Attachments

When a friend tells you gently to write on the blog I know what she means because I too check out a blog or two fairly regularly. There's a dynamic here/there that is illusive to a white hair obsessed with reflection and story telling. Yet I am convinced there is gold there in them there cyberhills. Reality? Virtual reality? Cyberspace? My new pre dawn ritual: Wake up before the birds. Listen to the inner voices. Wonder. This morning I am wondering about attachments. The newest aspect of this term broke into my consciousness when I began recovering writing from a cd that my guru of computers made for me when i left gateway and went to Dell. It is stuck in my computer now. I can't get it out. But I did discover that the computer hasn't abandoned it, and yesterday I began to transfer writing that still had meaning for me from that disk drive to my documents. One I tripped to desktop, and that one became an attachment to a short email I sent to my friend yesterday. The thing is I don't know if she ever recieved that attachment. Is this my way of asking her? I'm attached to that attachment as I'm attached to the person I sent it to, as I'm attached to the old friend we are going to visit soon, and the guy who is going to drive us there.

I started writing again last week, and the writing again led back to old notebooks and journal and letters. The writing is part of the beautiful loop of thinking, recollecting ,reflecting,seeing again ,sometimes as though it was the first time. Attachments. Another paradox. On the front of Union station in Washington words etched in stone. To get the gold of the orient you have to bring some along with you. And yet, parables involving eyes of needles and camels, and the notion of impedimenta. Too much baggage!